Professor Bello's Pov
He finally broke the silence with a sharp question. "Why would you want to take a girl you're not related to to another city?" His gaze pinned me in place, his voice edged with suspicion. "What right do you have?"
His words hung heavy in the air, laced with an accusation he didn't need to spell out. I could see it in his narrowed eyes, in the stiff set of his shoulders, he had already made up his mind about me. To him, my actions were questionable at best, dishonorable at worst.
Frustration simmered beneath my calm exterior, but I took a steady breath, forcing myself to remain composed. I had expected resistance, but the directness of his challenge still stung. I could have responded with anger, could have matched his intensity, but that wouldn't help Humaira or her mother. They were the reason I was here.
So instead, I met his gaze, steady and unwavering. "Because she needed help," I said, my voice even. "Because her father trusted me enough to ask for it before he passed. And because, despite not being related by blood, I believe we have a responsibility to those who need us."
"I understand your concerns, Mallam Shamsudeen," I began, keeping my tone steady and measured. "But let me explain—I had a close relationship with Humaira's father. We were like brothers. I promised him that if anything ever happened to him, I would take care of his family." trying to make him believe me.
I watched his expression closely, searching for any sign that my words were getting through to him. His face remained unreadable, his eyes sharp with scrutiny.
Mallam Shamsudeen raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "That may be true," he said, "but Humaira is of marriageable age. She needs to be married off to a good man, not sent away to some strange city with a stranger."
I leaned forward slightly. "I'm not here to challenge your authority or question your role in her life. I only want what's best for her. If you disagree, then tell me—what alternative would you have chosen?"
Taking a breath, I continued, my voice calm but firm. "Humaira is like a daughter to me. I'm not taking her to another city on a whim. I'm doing it because it's the best option for her and her mother. They were in a difficult situation, and I couldn't stand by and do nothing."
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, with a measured breath, he finally spoke, though his tone remained guarded. "And you truly believe this was the right choice?"
"I do," I said without hesitation. "And if you give me the chance, I will prove it."
He still didn't seem convinced, no matter how much I reasoned with him. He kept pushing back, his arguments circling the same point.
I sighed, searching for a way to win him over. As we went back and forth, an idea formed. I remembered the wad of cash in my pocket. From his demeanor, I had a feeling money might sway him.
Slowly, I pulled it out and placed it on the table between us. My voice remained calm but firm. "Please, Mallam Shamsudeen," I said. "Take this—use it however you see fit. I just want what's best for Humaira."
Mallam Shamsudeen's expression changed in an instant. His gaze flickered to the wad of cash, then back to me, a slow smile creeping onto his lips. Without hesitation, he reached out and pocketed the money with practiced ease. His eyes gleamed—greed and quiet triumph written all over his face. A pang of disgust twisted in my chest at how effortlessly he had given in.
He leaned back, suddenly more at ease. "Ah, you're a generous man," he said, his voice almost warm. "I like that."
We spoke for a while longer as I answered his questions about myself and my life in Abuja. He listened carefully, occasionally nodding, though skepticism still lingered in his eyes. At one point, he made a few calls to verify my claims, his expression unreadable as he waited for responses.
Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, he leaned back and exhaled. "Alright," he said, his tone measured. "You may take her."
Relief washed over me, though I kept my expression neutral. We exchanged contact information, and he assured me he would inform the rest of the family. It wasn't trust, not yet—but it was permission, and for now, that was enough.
As I stepped out of Mallam Shamsudeen's house, a wave of relief washed over me. The tension that had coiled in my chest all day finally loosened. It had been a long, exhausting battle of words and patience, but in the end, things had gone my way.
The evening air was crisp, a welcome contrast to the stifling weight of the conversation I had just endured. I took a slow breath, steadying myself. There was still much to do, but for now, I allowed myself a small moment of victory.
The next morning, we set off for Abuja. Humaira was quiet, but her eyes sparkled with excitement. Her mother hugged her tightly, tears in her eyes. Abdulkareem and Qasim, her younger brothers, stood by, looking sad as they bid their sister farewell. With a final farewell, we left them behind, Humaira smiling and waving goodbye.
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Humaira's Pov
As the car wound its way through the familiar streets of Abuja, I felt a mix of emotions swirling inside me. It was strange to be back in the city where I'd spent my childhood, yet everything felt different now. The buildings seemed taller, the streets busier, and the sounds louder.
Professor Bello's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "We're almost there, Humaira."
I nodded, my gaze lingering on the passing scenery. As we turned a corner, the gleaming dome of the National Mosque came into view. A wave of nostalgia washed over me—I had spent years exploring this city with my family, each street holding a memory.
As we pulled up to Professor Bello's house, the grandeur of the estate took my breath away. The mansion loomed before us, its creamy white walls and ornate ironwork gates exuding an aura of luxury and refinement. The roof, a majestic blend of Islamic and modern architectural styles, seemed to stretch up to the sky, its intricate tilework glinting in the sunlight. Lush greenery surrounded the house, with meticulously manicured lawns and vibrant flowers adding splashes of color to the serene landscape.
Professor Bello's warm smile reassured me as he helped me out of the car. "Welcome home, Humaira."
I smiled back, feeling a sense of gratitude toward this kind stranger who'd taken me under his wing.
Stepping out of the car, a wave of apprehension washed over me. Would I truly fit in with Professor Bello's family? As I stood there, uncertainty gnawed at me. What would my new life be like? Would I adjust to my new school? Would I make new friends—or perhaps run into old ones?
As we entered the house, Professor Bello led me to the living room, where his family was waiting. His wife, greeted me warmly, opening her arms for a big hug.
"Welcome home, my dear," she said, her voice filled with kindness. "We're so glad you're here." She opened her arms, and I walked into her warm embrace, feeling a sense of comfort and belonging. As I pulled back, I bowed respectfully, greeting her with a gentle "Assalamu alaikum, Aunty." She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and replied, "Wa alaikum assalam, my dear. Come, let's get you settled."
Professor Bello smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Fatima, my wife, has been looking forward to meeting you," he said as he led me inside.
The moment we stepped into the living room, I was struck by its elegance. Lavish furnishings and intricate artwork adorned the walls, while the soft glow of chandeliers cast a warm, inviting ambiance. The sweet aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, adding to the sense of comfort.
Across the parlor, a woman sat with an air of quiet authority, her piercing brown eyes fixed on me—curious yet guarded. She appeared older than me, her slender frame wrapped in a stunning Abaya. Long, dark hair cascaded down her back. Everything about her exuded elegance, yet her expression remained cold, unwelcoming. A subtle distance lingered in her gaze, making me feel like an outsider before I had even spoken a word.
Professor Bello nodded toward her, his voice warm and affable. "This is my daughter, Hanifa. She's married and lives with her husband, but she's staying here for a while."
Her expression remained cold as she nodded at me. "Assalamu alaikum," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
I returned the greeting, trying to hide my surprise at her chilly demeanor. "Wa alaikum assalam," I replied, smiling warmly.Without another word, she walked to her father and bowed her head in greeting, her posture respectful yet distant.
"Welcome home, Dad,"she said softly.
Professor Bello smiled at her, his voice warm. 'Thank you, my dear. It's good to be home.'"
"Hajiya Fatima noticed the awkward exchange and stepped in smoothly, her tone light and reassuring. "Hanifa, why don't you show Humaira to her room?"
Hanifa's lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. "This way," she said curtly, turning on her heels without waiting for a response.
I glanced at Hajiya Fatima, who gave me an encouraging smile, then followed Hanifa up the grand staircase, my heart pounding with uncertainty."
As we ascended the staircase, I caught glimpses of two maids working in the hallway, their crisp uniforms a quiet testament to the family's wealth and status. The soft hum of the air conditioning mixed with their hushed conversation, creating a low, soothing backdrop to the otherwise silent house.
We reached the top floor, and she pushed open the door to a beautifully decorated bedroom. The room was a serene oasis, bathed in warm, golden light that spilled in through the large windows. Soft pastel colors - pale pink, baby blue, and mint green - blended harmoniously, creating a calming atmosphere. Plush furnishings, adorned with intricate patterns and delicate lace, added a touch of elegance.
One of the maids, dressed in a crisp white uniform with a neatly tied headscarf, was arranging fresh flowers in a crystal vase. She looked up as we entered and offered a warm smile. 'Assalamu alaikum,' she greeted respectfully, bowing her head slightly. Her hands moved carefully, adjusting the flowers with practiced ease.
Ya Hanifa nodded curtly. "This is your room. The maid, Nana, will help you with anything you need."
I smiled, feeling a sense of gratitude. "Thank you, Ya Hanifa." I said trying to show some respect.
Ya Hanifa's expression softened ever so slightly, but she remained aloof. "I'll leave you to settle in," she said, before turning and walking away.